The Nameless Metal
by Kneecap
Summary: Dib is slowly losing his mind. Zim is listless. When the two of them end up trapped, their perseverance and struggle to understand one another binds them to one ultimate goal: escape. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

Enjoy.

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_Don't do this. Not again. I can't do this again_.

He felt like his mouth was glued together. Suffocating and thick, hot like bile. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. But he had to, the last syllable of his name rang and faded to silence in the air, he forced his foot forward. _Please, just make it end_. The slip was yanked firmly from his lax fingers. He stood anxiously. Swallowed. _Let it be over_.

"She'll see you now."

_Oh, God. No._

Why was walking so difficult, why did it feel like he was wading through heavy water. He stretched out his hand. Why him, why again, why now ― he opened the door.

An air conditioner roared at full blast in the corner and had the air around him coated in a faux frigidity, and it was sharp in his nostrils when he inhaled. No one was seated behind the glossy desk and he stepped silently across the carpet, over to the tiny table laden with psychiatric evaluation toys, slowly lowered his lanky frame down onto the hard plastic chair. A pale finger reached out and pushed a bead over on the abacus. It gave a soft clink.

Other than the air conditioner, the place was silent.

"Dib."

He glanced up and over the rims of his glasses so he wouldn't have to see in full detail the woman's face. She was wearing black today. How quaint. Even through his blurry and imperfect vision ― he could see the sickening smile spread across her face, jagged and frightening and utterly fake. Dib curled his outstretched finger into his palm, lines going ramrod straight in his body. Uncomfortable and shielded.

It was silent when she walked, too, and this was unsettling. He listened as she sat down. Adjusted her files. Cleared her throat. Said, "And how are you today?" He kept his eyes lowered, could see her knees in the edge of his vision, and he tried to keep his finger from shaking as he slid another bead across.

He shrugged.

Sloppy and uncaring.

"I see," she said. A pencil scraped. She kept going, kept saying, Do anything fun, go anywhere special ― and her voice dropped suddenly; subtext, Dib's mind screamed, subtext ― see anything…interesting?

And there it was, he reasoned, there it was. His father was in the room, wasn't he, standing over them, intimidating and blocking out the light. Just like he used to when he towered over a young Dib's head and his face couldn't be seen; he was here now, scientifically gloved fingers tangled in strings, yanking at this cheap therapist marionette. His voice superimposed, speaking through her.

Dib had mentally strapped on his armor and taken up his weapon. But again, he felt like he'd wrapped his fingers around it too late.

_Clink_.

Another bead.

"No," he croaked. The glue in his mouth had turned to ash and it sat heavy and dry on his tongue, his voice coming out like a man's dying of thirst. He felt so tired.

Then it began. She asked him what he'd learned in school today. She asked him how his sister was doing. How his father was doing ― _but you should know that, shouldn't you, he's standing right behind you and his breath is ruffling your strings_ ― and how his friend was doing.

What friend, he had to question.

She said she thought he had a friend at one point.

What point.

"You know…that one boy."

There was nothing flatter and duller and sadder and so horribly sarcastic than Dib's laugh. He fell silent, tucked into himself, slid another bead on the abacus. He didn't bother trying to explain anything. How funny, he kept thinking, that everyone believed in a friendship there. It's so funny, isn't it. So ironic. _I think this says something about you_. And she asked him about his feelings on the upcoming election and did he prefer salt or butter on his corn and he'd honestly ceased listening to her razor-sharp smile over ten minutes ago. The air conditioner screamed on, Dib pulled his jacket closer as it felt like it was only getting colder.

He looked at the clock. He wanted this to end.

She asked him if he'd been staying away from razors. Like she had instructed him to. Dib felt his face contorting into a look of disgust and it was everything he could do to keep from shouting at her. His anger, it'd been getting harder and harder to handle lately. His fist curled, but then he heard, _no_. The voice was small. But he heard it.

_Don't say anything. Don't make it worse_.

The imaginary tug was himself, young and wide-eyed, sitting cross-legged on the ugly carpet. And Dib hated looking at it. That Dib was far too old already; there was age in his face and weariness in his eyes, the decay already begun. This ten-year-old version was sad and pathetic, and said, _I don't want to come back here again_.

I know. God, do I know.

"I never tried to―"

"It's a simple question, Dib. Answer it."

He clenched his teeth and muttered no, no razors. He wanted to throw the abacus at her. He wondered how deep a gash the corner would leave in her pompous know-it-all head. Young Dib fell silent and still, fingers lightly pulling at his own pant leg. And the hands moved slowly around the clock, much too slowly. The therapist was right in the middle of a question when the minutes at last counted down to zero and Dib stood up without a sound. He strode right through the image of his younger self and it evaporated around his knees, and he left that cold and barren room, keeping his mouth shut. He nearly ran through the lobby and out the door.

_That was a huge waste of time._

_Like it always is_.

Young Dib was running to keep up.

_Whatever problem it is I have, she won't do shit to fix it_.

_Hey. Language. I am a minor, y'know_.

Dib stopped at his car, keys dangling from his fingers, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Gripped the back of his head. His breath left him in a shaky sigh and when he looked up again, the parking lot was empty save for him. That didn't mean he wasn't alone. His car felt stuffy and suffocating when he climbed inside, and the motor spluttering to life seemed almost too loud in the silence, echoing across the asphalt. He pulled out of his space and began his drive home.

Young Dib sat calmly in the passenger seat. _You do have problems, though_.

_I never said I didn't. I said that insane woman can do nothing. She's a quack._

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and wished his radio wasn't broken so he wouldn't have to deal with the utter quiet. And himself.

_Well, do something. Because you realize, this isn't quite normal._

_Yeah, I realized a very long time ago, thanks_, Dib sneered. His younger self was not amused. Those young eyes flashed with warning and the snarl fell from Dib's face.

_Just don't go too crazy. Once that happens, you're screwed_.

_How optimistic._

_Dog_.

"Shit!" The brakes squealed and the car came to a shuddering halt. There was a clunk from somewhere inside the engine, and as Dib was deciding that the sound probably wasn't a good one, the dog trotted to the curb and out of harm's way. Dib sat back in his seat and gritted his teeth and tried to keep it together. In the flurry of activity his younger self had disappeared, and was for the moment remaining silent. Which he was thankful for. He set a shaky foot on the gas pedal.

He was still trembling, just minutely, minutes later when he was standing in front of his fridge trying to decide whether he wanted anything in it or not. Gaz sat on the counter with a cookie and stared at him. Young Dib was fixing a crooked Poop Cola magnet.

"I'm guessing your session was a bust," said his sister. He barely heard her. He watched young Dib turn the magnet to the left. Turn it back to the right. Upside down, in a circle, entranced. Dib made a soft sort of grunt in response and opened the fridge door and young Dib went stumbling back, gave an offended huff, disappeared. Dib didn't take anything out. But when he closed the door the magnet was crooked, back in the same position.

Gaz raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She was holding her cookie, had only taken one bite out of it, and didn't look like she was going to take any more. Dib held out his hand for it. She tossed it into the nearby trashcan, and without a word Dib turned and simply left the kitchen.

Young Dib was spinning around in his computer chair when he came into his room, and he said, _You should probably sleep. Bitterness has the tendency to exhaust you_. Dib shrugged out of his jacket and threw it hard at his chair and where young Dib was standing on his knees, and it landed on the chair with a soft smack; young Dib vanished and was suddenly standing on his bed. Like a flicker, a few frames of a film strip missing. _I know you're mad but you don't have to take it out on me_.

"Go away," Dib muttered. He shoved his chair aside and, careless of the small boy version of himself standing defiantly on his mattress, he collapsed slackly into bed.

_You shouldn't say stuff out loud. That'll just make it worse_.

Dib clacked his tongue piercing against his teeth. Buried his face into his blankets and pulled the pillow over his head, long fingers curled like claws. All he could think was that he didn't want to go to school the next day, but young Dib was spinning in his chair again saying that his father would never let him stay home, and he had to. He simply had to.

Dib couldn't have passed out sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

I promise you, it starts to get better soon.

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It wasn't quite so bad in the mornings. In the mornings, Dib's head was quiet as he drove to school, Gaz's game blipping consistently in his ear. It was only at night. Only when he was mad. Discontented. Anxious. And by the time it got bad enough to scare him he'd learned not to say anything out of the ordinary. That bin sat in the corner, dusty. He'd been promised that even though he was taller and lankier than he'd been in the fourth grade, he could be forced to fit into it.

Like the shrink. He could be forced.

Just like always, he had to park two blocks from the school because of the massive amount of students' shiny BMWs and SUVs lined along the curb. One of these days Dib was going to take a crowbar and run along with his hand outstretched, like smacking a stick against a fence ― and he would leave a long, jagged, ongoing scratch down the sides of all those stupid expensive vehicles.

He contemplated telling Gaz about it. But her forehead was creased, thumbs moving deft and dexterous over the buttons and he knew just by looking that she was on an important level. He kept his mouth shut and curled his hand around the strap of his bag and they both walked slowly down the soiled sidewalk to school.

Dib's locker was the one with the remnants of spray paint on it from years before. It was a reject's locker in every way, from its dent to its stubborn combination lock, and today Dib simply didn't feel like dealing with it. He dragged his bookbag to class and threw it down beside his chair. His desk was right in the middle of the room; ironic considering that everyone nearest him had their backs turned so they could talk to their friends, and it had once made Dib feel like he was locked in a small and chattering and painful room.

He didn't have enough energy to feel something more complicated than the basic emotional defaults.

Everyone turned around when the teacher entered. It still felt cold. Dib took out his notebook and pen and opened up to a black page, burying his other hand in his jacket sleeve to keep his fingers warm as the teacher began talking and all he heard was that there was a project, and there were partners involved. This was where students got antsy and glanced uncertainly at each other.

The teacher said, "Culture. You are going to interview your partner over the weekend and learn their heritage and familial traditions, you are going to―"

Dib wrote, _overrated_. His pen scratched.

"―partners randomly selected―"

Dib wrote, _dumb_.

_You're so disgustingly cheery in the morning_.

Dib's hand contracted swiftly, curling hard around his pen, knuckles white and shaking. _And you're not supposed to be here_. The teacher's prattling became a fuzzy, indistinct background noise over Dib's steady breathing. He turned. Familiar glasses hovered at the edge of his vision.

_I wasn't aware I had a strict appearance schedule_.

_It's bad enough you exist. Don't do this to me at school_. He turned away and refused to look back.

There was a sudden uplifting of noise, the class was muttering and talking amongst themselves and the teacher was walking through the aisles holding a tiny basket. Hands reached inside as she walked slowly past, and Dib clutched the edge of his desk with his pen jutting out from between his fingers. He realized very suddenly that he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to talk to an uplifted nose, but when he tried to reach out his hand for the basket the teacher swiftly sidestepped.

"No," he said, "you're going to work specially with him." His finger jabbed at the air.

_Oh, God, no_.

_Of course_.

His younger self was wearing an expression so twisted with disappointment it was frightening, and Dib could only sigh and release the edge of his desk in defeat. From the back of the room, lavender eyes glanced up as if the teacher's pointed finger had physically touched their owner and Dib was met with a familiar glare, the same heated scowl he'd been receiving for years. It just made him feel more tired.

Dib spun back around in his chair and rested his forehead on his hand.

_You know…your life sucks possibly more than mine does._

_Says the entity criticizing me for being too cheery. You're not helping_.

Desks scraped around the room as students turned, either faced their new partners with relieved joy or absolute dread. Dib was the only one that didn't move. Aside from his wonderful new partner. Culture. With him. Again with that horrible irony. Dib barked a sarcastic laugh into his hands, watched through his fingers as young Dib crouched down to poke at a mysterious stain on the floor.

With jerky, unsure movements Dib slid out of his chair and walked to the back of the room. Elegant claws lay folded over the scuffed desktop, and the heat had been turned down a few notches ― Dib was now simply faced with a cold look of disdain. Dib stood and stared.

Zim stared back.

Sucking in a long, heavy, sticky breath, Dib said, "Just our luck."

Those fake lavender eyes could betray none of Zim's emotion, the wig hid from sight the delicate appendages that had occasionally flicked along with mental process. In truth, Zim was more well disguised than Dib had originally thought; the Irken was a blank wall, no cues as to what it was he was thinking or feeling. Dib stood, uncomfortable, then finally reached out to pull a desk over with a loud scrape, and young Dib stood bristling and glaring. _Any second now he's going to open his big fat stupid alien mouth_. Dib mentally waved him off even though he expected the same thing.

It was only a matter of time.

"So, Dib-stink." Zim's look was haughty, his chin pointed upwards, long frame suddenly straightening as if he were waking out of a hateful stupor, or forcibly ripping himself into animation. "Let's get this over with."

"Gladly," Dib muttered. And Zim visibly bristled, curled into himself with a soft grunt. They were both taller and wiser, but other than that for all they knew nothing about each other had changed.

Zim said, "Good. I already tire of your obnoxious voice." He tapped his claws on his desk and it made an eerie clacking sound, and Dib leaned back in his chair, actually giving the project some thought ― he wasn't even sure what his heritage was; his father had never said. He deduced that he was simply American, and then Zim began to speak. "I am…Scandinavian."

Truth: Dib was expecting those words least. He surprised himself, rocking forward in his chair with a sudden burst of laughter so loud and heartfelt that it was almost strange, and others around the two of them turned their heads. Dib was leaning his face into the crook of his elbow, trying to quiet himself, and he could hear Zim hissing at him and ordering, "Do not laugh at Zim." And it just made it funnier. He gave himself a few moments of pathetic little peals before glancing up and seeing Zim's hands curled around the edges of the desk, shaking. Like he was attempting to control himself.

Which was odd, because in all the years that Dib had known him Zim never gave much thought to self control. The surprise of it slowly melted Dib's laughter down to an amused smirk and he caught Zim's eyes flashing with broadened irritation.

"If you're finished," Zim growled. Dib cleared his throat, rubbed at his eye.

"Yeah, I think that's good enough." Zim's jaw tightened and Dib felt rather satisfied to have frustrated the Irken so much, and he sat back in his seat again, rested his ankle on his knee. He saw Zim swallow down his anger and relax his grip on the desk.

But now Zim seemed a bit unsure; he glanced about the classroom with no particular sequence in where he set his gaze and he even squirmed a bit in his chair. His one hand lifted in what seemed to be a subconscious gesture and it hovered in the air loosely beside his head for a few moments, like it had been reaching for something that it soon found to be missing. Zim coughed discreetly, slowly lowered his hand, muttered, "So what horrible nationality is it that you hail from, anyway, human?"

"I…" Dib paused. Again, he didn't have any idea. He was about to say so, but pulled the words back, and lingered indecisively. Clacked his tongue piercing against his teeth. _Just admit you have nothing to tell him_. Young Dib was starting to get impatient, wandering in circles around the two desks with his trench coat fluttering around every turn.

"Italian," Dib blurted.

Zim was resting his chin on his palm and his eyes flitted back to Dib, and he said, "That…that is the place shaped like my almighty boot, right?" And he halfway lifted up his foot for reference. Dib was amazed the Irken had recognized what he'd just said, let alone the fact that he knew what and where it was. So he simply nodded.

Young Dib slammed a hand down onto his elder counterpart's desk. Dib jumped slightly. _You're impressed. Stop that right now_.

_Fuck off_.

Young Dib's eyes narrowed dangerously. _I don't know where the hell you've been for the past eight years of your pathetic life, __**Dib**_, and Dib clenched his fists, his own name resonating through his head with such venom, _but this guy ― alien, your school partner, is a jerk. Has always been a jerk._

_But not so much right now_. He watched Zim gazing absently at his desk, hands resting harmlessly in front of him, saying nothing. Dib hadn't spoken to Zim, barely even looked at him since he'd stopped trying to fight in the seventh grade. Talking to him now, it was like meeting a new alien, or the watered down version of him. The censored version. Something had put a filter over Zim's egotistical, erratic behavior. _Not so much right now…I wonder what happened to_―

_Don't_. Young Dib's hand slammed the desk again, eyes fierce. _You start thinking of him as another person and you're going to get fucked, Dib._ The figment of Dib's problematic mind stepped backwards, away from the desk, looking off towards the classroom door. The bell had rung, students were getting up out of their seats and exiting in a flurry. The teacher was saying how the project had to be completed over the weekend, due Monday, and young Dib was nowhere to be found, his voice admonishing, _Just get the stupid project done and don't ever talk to him again_.

Right.

Dib looked up to see Zim standing, gripping a notebook between his claws and looking like he was fishing for something to say to his former nemesis. An awkward silence hung, heavy and suffocating and potent despite the commotion happening around them, and Zim's fingers mercilessly folded the notebook, tearing at it. Dib decided to ease the parting down instead of waiting for Zim to say something potentially stupid ― he got up and nodded, "So you come to my house on Saturday and then I'll go to yours on Sunday."

Zim's fake lavender eyes seemed startled and he opened his mouth, face curling into a halfhearted and ugly sneer before it very quickly melted away. He seemed to realize the uncomfortably placed, unspoken pact Dib was offering and he did nothing else but tip his head in acknowledgement at the words before darting away, out the door. Dib stood in place for what felt like a while as the last of the students left and the teacher organized some papers on her desk.

Zim hadn't said anything. He could have said something about why did he have to go to Dib's house first, dissection? Capture? Acted all suspicious and then he could have even gone as far as to make a comment about how much greater his house was compared to Dib's.

But he'd said nothing. And his offhanded remarks of superiority had seemed strained and forced. Pale.

_What did I just tell you?_ Young Dib stood by Dib's desk, arms folded, glaring. _Stop thinking about it because it'll only end up screwing you over_. The bell rang again. _Hurry the hell up or I'll have to come up with some sort of excuse for you to tell your teacher about why you were late_.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reading.

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"So I heard."

Dib's shoes and the pavement ceased to be interesting and he glanced up. Gaz was suddenly standing in front of him, eyes for once averted away from her game system and she fixed Dib with a cool look. He pushed himself away from the brick wall, readjusted his bookbag, couldn't meet her eyes as he softly cleared his throat. "What?" he asked.

"About the project," Gaz said, and to anyone else her voice would still be as flat and emotionless as it had always been, but Dib had the trained ear and he could hear her exasperation. It was minute and hidden, but it was there. He had, apparently, asked a stupid question. Gaz said, "I heard that Zim's your partner. That sucks." And she turned back to her game, thumbs moving.

She followed him effortlessly down the street even though her eyes were glued to the game, and Dib asked, "How did you hear about it?" Gaz let out a nearly silent exhale, like saying without the words how dumb Dib was being.

"The concept of secrets doesn't exist in high school, Dib," she growled. Her thumb gave a particularly harsh stab at a button and Dib winced, as if she'd just pulled a trigger; he could hear the tinny explosions in her game. By the satisfied look she had, she had just successfully destroyed something, and there was a pause of smugness before she returned to rapidly tapping at the buttons. She said, "Actually, having Zim as a partner might not be so bad."

"How," Dib grumbled, avoiding a person walking by with a plastic bag full of something dripping onto the sidewalk as they walked along, a Hansel and Gretel trail.

"He doesn't really talk anymore," Gaz said, casting the drips on the sidewalk an uncaring glance, and she paused as her game emitted a synthetic explosion and a scream. "He keeps mostly to himself. He doesn't even convulse on the lunch tables like he used to. I'm surprised that you didn't notice, what with you being so obsessed with him."

"I wasn't obsessed."

_Haha, I didn't know you were a jokester too._

Dib stopped talking and swallowed at the sudden intrusion as he'd been a second away from telling the voice to shut up out loud. Gaz merely sniffed at his statement and Dib glared down at the form of his younger self skipping over the sticky drip trail. Dib went, to Gaz, to himself, to young Dib, "I wasn't obsessed. I was…"

_Fascinated? Highly interested? Or just extremely observant? It's a river in Egypt, Dib._

_God, shut __**up**__._

He trailed off into silence and let it remain as such. Gaz let it be though Dib highly doubted it was because she was being courteous of his wishes, but because she was too busy destroying in her little game world. Dib looked down at young Dib trotting in front of him, coat fluttering, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

_Even you can't deny that something's wrong with Zim_, he said and the imaginary boy spun on his heel, walking backwards, mouth twisted into a fierce scowl.

_You idiot_, he snapped, _do I have to come over there and hit you? How hard a blow until you get it into your head that you shouldn't __**care**__?_ They came to Dib's car parked by the curb and Gaz waited by the passenger side door, completely oblivious to Dib's internal battle. Dib clenched his keys hard, unlocking his car, and young Dib grabbed hold of his shirt and gave it a harsh yank only he could feel. _Hey. Don't ignore me now. You can't afford it_.

_Was I really this annoying when I was younger? _Dib sent the invented illusion a glare and got into the car; unsurprisingly young Dib appeared in the backseat, gripping the upholstery of Dib's seat with tense fingers.

_Don't be a smartass, either_. Dib actually laughed until Gaz looked at him oddly, and he quickly stopped, but the laughter continued on in his head and young Dib did not appear amused.

The car pulled away from the curb. _I will once you stop being a hypocrite_.

Young Dib opened his mouth, closed it, remained silent for a few minutes as the car made its way down the road. He let go of Dib's seat and slumped back and laced his fingers across his stomach. _Let's just think for a minute here. Can you do that?_ Dib clenched his hands on the wheel at the blatant sarcasm and he wondered just when his conscience had turned into such a bitch. _If you let yourself care, what do you think might happen?_

_I __**don't**__ care._

_Bullshit!_ Young Dib sprung forward again with a snarl. _Stop trying to bury your face in your tear-stained pillow of emo denial and fucking come to the conclusion that you're starting to think about that stupid alien far too much_.

Another little explosion from Gaz's game to emphasize young Dib's sudden flare of anger, like cheesy thunder after a movie character has just said something spooky. Dib almost missed his turn. He cut the wheel sharply to the right ― _So what do you want me to do_. It burned to back down so resignedly, even to himself.

Young Dib looked out the window for a few moments. Finally, he sighed. _Pick a fight with him. Or just be normal around him ― knowing Zim, he can spark up at anything. If a fight erupts, then you'll know that he's just the same, stupid creature he's always been. And then you can go back to ignoring him after this project is done and over with_.

Dib swung smoothly into the driveway and Gaz was out of the car before it even had time to come to a complete stop. Dib turned the key and the motor exhaled into silence and he sat, watching young Dib through his rearview mirror. _And what if he has changed? _

_We'll figure that out once it comes to it_. Young Dib was barely interested by now. He was picking at his fingers, kicking his legs a bit. _Besides, I kind of doubt it. Not only is Zim a quite unchangeable character, I'm pretty much always right_.

_Way to boost your ego._

_It's yours too_. Young Dib met his eyes through the rearview and in one blink, vanished, and Dib was left sitting in his car alone and questioning his sanity. Finally, he yanked his key free of the ignition and climbed out, contemplating simply collapsing into his bed and sleeping until all of this had passed. Or the end of the world. Whichever was more appealing.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so:

1. Thank you for my...three readers so far, haha. Your support is very appreciated.

2. I'm sorry for the many curses, but I happen to love using curse-words so there's always going to be a lot.

3. Teng a Ling, your enthusiasm is awesome. At the moment I'm still in the process of writing the second half of the story so I'm not sure if it'll be ZADR yet, but that's where it's leaning. So I suppose I should put a warning in the summary...

With that said, enjoy.

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Something was talking. Just out of reach, and Dib was busy trying to groggily figure out what it was and what they were saying when he suddenly felt a firm, solid whap against his head. He opened his eyes.

He glanced up ― Gaz stood over him, arms raised, fists clenched around the corners of a pillow and it took him a few moments of wondering before he realized what was coming. He barely had time to cry out. The pillow smacked him on the head again, this time with much more force and much more pain, and he snapped upright to yank the pillow from his sister's grasp. She let him take it. "It's about time you woke up, you lazy ass," she growled. And she pivoted sharply and marched to Dib's bedroom door.

"What ― why, wait a second―" Dib stammered; he wanted to ask what was going on, why the hell did she wake him up when she could care less how long he stayed in bed, and that was when Gaz glanced back over her shoulder at him.

"Zim's here."

Dib felt his chest tighten as if she'd just told him he was going to die, and he sat propped on one arm gripping the pillow and gaping stupidly. "When…did he get here," he murmured, voice slow, knuckles white.

Gaz was hovering impatiently in the door, most likely thinking about the game she'd left paused and abandoned somewhere else in the house and she said, "Fifteen minutes ago."

"Where is he?"

Gaz officially lost all her patience and left, walking down the hall and calling back that Zim was downstairs, waiting ― Dib felt his blankets get tugged and looked down to see young Dib, frantic: _come on, he's being left alone in your house, __**in your house**__, get up!_ Dib tossed the pillow aside and scrabbled out of bed, grabbing what clothes he could. Swiftly throwing them on, he haphazardly drew his fingers through his hair to get it somewhat organized as he ran down the hall. Young Dib kept pace. He was babbling.

_Just remember not to get stupid or all concerned or care and he's an alien, remember that too, he's not human so he's not going to feel the same as you so don't care too much, don't care at all and just please don't be stupid because you know how much you do that and―_

Dib thundered down the stairs and scanned his eyes around the room to land on a lithe, tensed figure standing right in the center of it, all alone. Zim turned when he heard Dib's none too elegant entry and his fake lavender eyes flashed with something unrecognizable, but something akin to dread. Dib stood and clenched the banister, swallowed, finished coming down the stairs with a bit more grace.

Young Dib stood quietly by. His eyes flicked from Zim to Dib and back to Zim again, his hands clutched in front of him. There was complete and utter silence.

And for once, Dib was at a complete loss as to what to do with the Irken so he simply lingered in one spot and glanced around the room to check if Zim had tampered with anything. But strangely enough, it looked like Zim hadn't touched anything at all, or even moved from that single spot a few feet away from the front door. A brief lick of confusion had Dib mentally backpedaling. A soft whisper from young Dib, _Don't_.

Dib didn't. He shifted nervously and went, "Hi." Something about Zim perked in acknowledgement to Dib's voice and there was a pause before the Irken lifted a hand, slowly, gave it a little twitch in greeting. Then he dropped it quickly as if he regretted doing it. Dib took the miniscule wave as something of a tentative icebreaker and he cleared his throat.

"So…um, I think today we should sort of come up with, um, maybe an outline of the project or something?" Dib stammered, and his voice seemed much too loud in the heavy silence. _Firm up your voice, idiot_, young Dib hissed. _Be more professional about this_. The order had Dib stalling for a bit, grasping for words. "So, yeah." _Phenomenal._

_You're not helping_.

Zim's mouth gently swung open as if he was going to say something, but he closed it again. Second thoughts, second thoughts. Dib watched his indecision before he finally chose to dodge around it, motioning curtly with a hand and walking into the kitchen. He saw out of the corner of his eye Zim hesitate, and then slowly and quietly follow. Dib pointed to the table in a wordless command.

Zim almost looked like he wished to defy, but then he again paused and finally went over to the table and sat down without complaint. Dib watched him in outright surprise as the alien sat and folded his hands on the tabletop.

_Keep to the program, keep yourself composed_.

Swallowing, Dib grabbed a piece of loose-leaf paper and a pencil from his bag on the counter and went to sit across from Zim, young Dib following and peering over the edge of the table suspiciously. Dib settled himself in his chair and uncertainly bounced his knee, tapped his pencil on the table. Zim was looking around at the kitchen.

"So," Dib started, looking at his paper, and both Zim and young Dib turned to look at him, "Scandinavian, right?" He sketched out an 'S' on the paper but suddenly paused, glancing up. "Do you even know where that is?"

Zim blinked coolly at him. "Of course," he said smoothly, and the familiar haughtiness crawled back into his voice like a dying animal wishing to be remembered. "That one is shaped like…" He paused and he raised his hands, claws making an unintelligible shape in the air, "Like that. And it has…" his fingers made another shape, "…protrusions…" He was staring off, brow furrowed as he tried to remember what shape Scandinavia was, exactly, and Dib just shook his head.

"Alright." He wrote the rest of the country's name down and young Dib was watching the alien intently; Zim suddenly leaned forward and did nothing but gaze calmly at the scrawled letters.

He said, "Your handwriting is atrocious, human."

_Ha!_ young Dib crowed and Dib felt himself jump in his seat a bit, and young Dib was bouncing excitedly with his finger jabbed straight at Zim's head, _look, see what he did? He opened something up for you ― hurry up and do something, retaliate! _Young Dib fell back for observation. _Take one_.

Dib mentally stammered and said the only thing he could think of. "Sorry."

Zim blinked in mild confusion and bemusement and young Dib smacked himself on the forehead with a sound that echoed harshly in Dib's mind. _Jesus Christ_. Dib ducked his head sheepishly, tapped the pencil on the table again a few times to fill the silence and mask the irritation of his younger imaginary self.

"Okay, so," he said quickly, "I'm guessing we should write traditions or something about the country, maybe…you do have some information we could use, right?" And Zim stared blankly at him, hands motionless on the table. Dib clenched his teeth slightly; this wasn't going to make the project go any faster. "You don't know _anything_ about it, do you?"

Some color came back into Zim's character ― if there was anything he hated, it was being told that he knew nothing about anything, and the Irken leaned forward as he got into offensive arguing position. "I know where the stupid landmark is located and I know of its shape. That's enough, isn't it?" he spat. His eyes flicked down when Dib's fist closed around the pencil in annoyance.

"No, it isn't," Dib said between clenched teeth. Young Dib had brought himself closer to the table again with his eyes wide in interest, quietly egging Dib on but Dib couldn't really understand the words at this point. "You know, for a minute there I'd actually thought you would come prepared for this. If you didn't look up anything then how the hell are we supposed to finish the project? You're just wasting my time."

"Just make it up." Zim was leaning back in his chair like he'd deflated, or lost a good amount of energy already, crossing his arms. Dib firmly rubbed his hand against his face and dug the heel of his palm into his eye and dropped the pencil, letting it clatter on the tabletop.

He said, "You can't just make shit up about a country, Zim."

"Why _not_."

"Because―" Dib cut himself off, growling, curling his fist in his hair. Zim didn't even seem to be listening to him, staring in another direction, unmoving and walled in. Young Dib bounced on the balls of his feet, said, _Don't let his stupidity get to you_. "Because…because you just _can't_, Zim. Christ. You know what, since you have nothing to give, we'll just put down what you really are."

That got Zim's attention. His head snapped around and he watched Dib pick up the pencil, glare officially in place, his hands tightened on his upper arms. He grew even more tense as Dib wrote an 'I'. 'R'.

"You're not funny _or_ cute, Dib-stink." Zim's voice came out a low growl. Menacing and full of warning to not push it any farther, but Dib was still writing out the rest of the word ('K') and young Dib was encouraging him right next to his elbow. _Keep going, get him really rattled_.

"Good," Dib muttered, completely blank and unaffected by Zim's anger, 'E', 'N'. "I wasn't trying to be. So, Irken, am I right?" Zim's jaw tightened at the sound of his own race coming out of Dib's mouth. "And I guess we could just say that your traditions are destroying innocent life."

Claws smacked down onto the paper and curled, crumpling it sharply. Zim was standing, looming over Dib and yanking his arm back, ripping the paper in half. His eyes smoldered and he straightened, taking his half of the paper and shredding it deftly into two halves. Into quarters. Into eighths. Pieces of furious loose-leaf confetti rained down onto the table as he tossed them carelessly into the air and Zim leaned forward, one hand planted, one finger straight and threatening.

"Considering my complete and utter _loathing_ for you, disgusting meat-sack," he snarled, "I was trying to be civil."

Dib remained sitting with his hand still poised as if he were writing, glancing briefly at Zim's pointed finger, young Dib gritting his teeth beside the table. "_Civil_," Dib repeated in disbelief. "Why the hell―"

"And considering that the fate of _your_ planet is in my organically advanced claws, I'd suggest you attempt the same," Zim sniffed, hovering closer, thin body thrumming with suppressed emotion. Dib couldn't help the discreet smile that crossed over his face and he could see young Dib grinning sadistically; they shared the same thoughts and apparently, what Dib was thinking was actually right this time around.

Dib didn't back down. He shoved his face right back, making the Irken falter, and said with as much venom as he could muster, "The fate of the planet, Zim? The doom you promised all of the human race over eight years ago?"

The glare disappeared from Zim's face and he went reeling back in an attempt of physical defense against something much more cutting than any weapon. Young Dib liked the startled look on the alien's face, Dib could hear his laughter. _Oh, I think you've hit a nerve. Keep going. _And now he was past the wall. It was too easy from there, but it didn't mean he wouldn't strike the soft underbelly.

"So when are you gonna get around to it, space boy?" he taunted. This wasn't Dib talking anymore, but his immature fourth-grader self. "Y'know, I think you should save the threats for when you're actually competent."

And just like that, Dib won the battle: Zim slumped back down into his seat with his eyes lowered, folding his hands calmly in front of him ― _are they, are they shaking?_ ― and was silent. For the first time, Dib didn't feel as if he'd made any sort of victory. He felt low and dirty and like everything he'd always hated. Young Dib even fell back. A few thick moments passed until a soft exhale of breath caught Dib's attention. Zim was speaking.

Zim was saying, quietly, barely there, "…I hate you."

And it was the most heartfelt thing Dib had ever heard the Irken say.

It was the last thing that was said before Zim simply stood and left the kitchen, and Dib heard the front door open and close again. Then silence. Complete and utter silence, and Dib could hear his heart beating lethargically in his ears, the sound of his strained swallow. He was still gripping the pencil. Young Dib was shadowed and faded off to the side, barely noticed, and when his voice resonated in Dib's head it was full of something, something like guilt.

_You know, I've always hated being wrong_.


	5. Chapter 5

Short chapter where nothing happens. I'm sorry. But it's the threshold to better things. Thank you, everyone, for reading.

-------

_It was low_.

The edge of a coat kept reappearing, disappearing, in and out of Dib's vision. He curled his hands in his pillow and watched it out of the corner of his eye as it flared like a bat wing. Young Dib was spinning around and around on his chair, his coat flaring out behind him, and Dib simply hid his eyes as he lay sprawled out on his bed. Tried his hardest, but couldn't stop feeling like a filthy wretch for the things he'd said not six or seven hours earlier.

Young Dib was spinning, but Dib knew even his conscious felt pretty damn mean and guilty.

_It was uncalled for_.

The chair kept going around and around. On top of the heavy stone of remorse in his stomach Dib was beginning to feel sick, watching it.

_It was bitchy_.

_Are you going to do this all night?_ young Dib groused and he stopped the chair, aiming his gaze straight at the teenager lying prone and miserable on his bed. Dib felt a bit lightheaded and didn't answer but instead buried his face back into his pillow. His younger self was agitated and mad, but shameful, and sometimes Dib wondered why young Dib always seemed more levelheaded than he could ever wish to be.

_If it makes this feeling go away any faster_. Dib could hear his conscious growling in irritation. _Don't do that ― you feel it too. You know we did nothing but degrade ourselves down there. _Young Dib said nothing.

Then he went, _You know the old Zim would've jumped at the chance to argue with what you said_.

Dib bolted upright and threw his pillow hard; he'd forgotten, once again, that the figment was nothing _but_ a figment, and the pillow crashed straight into his dresser with a loud thwack. It fell to the floor, harmless, and young Dib was grinning nastily. _Nice one_.

_We're not dealing with the old Zim_, Dib snapped at him, ignoring his sarcasm. _This is not the old Zim, the self-obsessed, egotistical prick I met in the fourth grade. This is…I don't even know what this is anymore, but godamn Zim for changing and confusing the hell out of me_. And he hunched over, crossing his arms over his chest like he was eight years below his actual age. Young Dib sat on the bed next to him, kicking his small legs.

_Whatever it is_, young Dib said evenly, _you just have one more day before it's over. Then you can get back to your life. And then you can graduate, and then go off to college―_

"Hey, hey wait," Dib muttered, and covered his eyes with a hand. Sometimes, it was simply too much to keep locked up in his head. Young Dib backed off a bit; actual oral responses meant distress. Dib sucked in a breath, slowly released it. _We're not talking about my future. We're talking about tomorrow. How am I supposed to face him after what happened?_

_The same way you always have._

_No. You don't get it. After what I said, I wouldn't be surprised if he simply shoots me at the doorstep. Forget the project, forget my future ― what about tomorrow and probable mortality?_

Young Dib rolled his eyes, and was suddenly back on the chair, spinning around. _He wouldn't do that. I kind of doubt he's killed anything past a spider_. Dib dropped his head into his hands and sighed, not having the heart to watch young Dib spin about and get himself sick. _Besides, we both saw what happened in the kitchen. The guy's lost his backbone somewhere along the way_.

Dib flinched.

And he couldn't quite comprehend the sudden sorrow at the idea of Zim losing everything that made him Zim.

Young Dib stopped spinning and glared at Dib's bowed head. _You're doing it again. Knock it off_.

_I can't help it; what do you want me to do? Be a heartless bastard?_ Dib lifted his head and spread his hands out in the air, looking at his younger counterpart expectedly, and young Dib's expression didn't waver.

_Let's start from there and work our way slowly to Soulless Boy_, he sneered. _You gotta start somewhere_.

_My God, your jolliness chokes me. Take it down a few notches, why don't you_. Dib's eyes narrowed.

_How about you continue to sit here like a useless lump insulting your own conscience. It really gets you places_.

"Okay, okay," Dib said. _We're cutting off the prattling series of ongoing sarcasm here. Before one of us loses an eye. Or our dignity_.

_Because we haven't already_, young Dib interjected softly, and Dib glared at him from between his fingers.

_Down, boy_.

Young Dib sniffed, crossed his arms, balancing on his knees in the chair while Dib sucked in deep breaths and attempted to think. He didn't have a choice, as far as he could see though he was considering letting himself simply take an 'F' for the project. Zim wouldn't care anyway, would he. But then again. Social studies wasn't exactly his strongest class and the last project…

_Hell, don't think about __**that**__ disaster on top of this_, young Dib cut in. _If I ever hear anything about American Indians ever again I might make you go batshit insane._

Dib sighed and lifted his other hand to join the first in hiding his face, fingers rubbing agitatedly at his forehead, morosely thinking, _I really have to go over there, don't I?_ Young Dib didn't respond and that was enough of an answer, and Dib groaned in frustration, the sound muffled in his palms. _Fuck. Godammit_.

_Let's not overdo it_. Young Dib seemed highly uninterested at this point; a sign he was close to shutting off, and Dib's eyelids drooped in a sudden and unexplained weariness. _I realize you're high and mighty on your pedestal of seventeen years, but there is a such thing as class_. Dib dragged his glasses off his face and tossed them onto his bedside table. He rubbed vigorously at his eye, young Dib had disappeared, and he decided it was a good time to pass out.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay everyone; I was stuck in rural Maine for a while. Here's where it gets good.

-------

_This is stupid. Even an 'F' would be better than this_.

Dib couldn't stop wringing at the sleeve of his coat, and although music was blaring into his ears from his headphones he found a certain silence unsettling. Young Dib was nowhere, wasn't talking or slinging sardonic barbs at him or anything and for the first time in a long while Dib felt a sense of true loneliness. People walking past him on the street weren't looking at him.

_Fate changes faster than the death of light_, his song was screaming into his ears like the conscience of someone else. Dib wondered how no one else could hear it ― they weren't turning or staring or noticing._ You supply the envy and I'll provide the spite_. He was just a few blocks from Zim's house, base, whatever it was. And it wasn't getting any easier with each step he took.

_Reflections cutting every face in two_. Dib wasn't sure if the song was helping or not. It wasn't death he was worried about, he thought to himself, he told himself. It wasn't death. And it wasn't pain. It was the possibility of something he had no idea what to do about anymore.

_Casting shadows in the pale shade of blue_.

He settled on the fact that the song was better than the absolute silence he would have to face without young Dib snapping annoyingly at him.

Dib was walking slower now over the gum-crusted sidewalk, every once in a while jerking back as if he was going to turn around. But he didn't. He kept casting furtive half-glances back but never really looked all the way, and people dodged him while barely noticing he was there, and he finally turned the corner onto the court. He spotted Zim's sharp-edged house standing at the end of it, a creepy predator crouched menacingly in a cheesy B-rated movie.

This would be the suspenseful part, Dib knew as he started walking forward, closer to the house. _Plastic blue_, the song sang to him, _invitations in my room_. This would be the part where the strings uplifted in a sustained minor, building upwards to what would be the crescendo, and young women would grip their boyfriends' hands or curl up in their seats and people would yell at the screen, telling him to go back.

_I can't hear you. Music's too loud_.

_I've been waiting here for you_, the song told him.

_That's nice_.

He was getting closer to the house; close enough to see that what had once been a healthy pink glow in the windows was now faded and dulled with gray, as if the house was sickly and dying. The gnomes sat in the front rusted and uncared for, forgotten. _Reservations made for two_, said the song. Dib was starting to consider turning it off.

The gnomes turned slowly as he approached, creaking and squealing in disuse, pathetic. He hesitated at the edge of the property. _Sunlight fading_…

The song closed and Dib ripped his headphones off. Then he was left with the true silence, save for the gnomes trying to come back to life after who knows how long of being left unattended to. They were buzzing and humming with strain. The whole place was dying. It didn't help Dib's strangely silent conscience at all. He stood and gripped at the fence lightly like he was afraid it would slice his hand or burn him, and he knew he must have looked like a fool doing nothing but standing and staring at the door. He imagined what young Dib would say and kicked himself into motion.

After the tentative knocks on the door faded away into muffled quiet, Dib started wondering how sane it was to _imagine_ what your conscience might say.

-------

"_You know…"_

"_What."_

"_He hasn't called in a while."_

"_I didn't notice."_

"_I didn't either ― not till just now."_

"_And?"_

"…_He does have important information. By default. If something happened…"_

-------

Zim's eyes were lined, his contacts dulled like his windows when he swung open the door. Dib held his headphones in one hand and could hear the tiny sounds of the next song because he hadn't yet turned off his CD player ― Zim noticed and glanced carelessly down at his fingers wrapped around the wire. A long, awkward pause, Dib fidgeted and murmured, "Hi."

The Irken looked back up at his face, then abruptly turned, flinging the door wide open and stalking off into the dimness of his home, base, structure thing. His voice floated back croaky and echoing. "Let's get this over with, Dib-thing."

Just as hesitant as Zim had been the day before, Dib hovered on the doorstep with his headphones screaming small and insignificant. He almost didn't want to turn the player off; it was his only companion in this scary situation, but he could see Zim standing in the doorway of his kitchen with his arms crossed.

"Aliens age too, stupid human," Zim spat, and Dib was surprised at how much more venom leaked from between those jagged teeth as compared to yesterday. Zim was angrier, yes; but it didn't make him any more like the Invader he used to be. "Stop lingering so you can get out of my home as fast as possible." Dib stuffed his headphones away but didn't turn them off. He'd decided not to, and he stepped cautiously into the room while keeping his eyes on Zim. Like he expected sudden moves. Zim sniffed.

When he turned his back slightly to enter the kitchen, Dib allowed his eyes to stray to the sides. The room was dimmer than he'd remembered, the couch was tattered and worn, the TV ― it was slumped, screen smashed in, victim of some horrible violence.

"Holy shit, what happened to your TV?" Dib blurted before he could stop himself and Zim whirled around like the boy had just insulted him, fixing his eyes on the demolished piece of technology. There was a moment's pause as Zim glared at the television, but Dib could almost see a hint of confusion in his eyes, or perhaps sadness, or regret, but then the Irken turned glinting eyes on him.

"That's absolutely no matter of importance to _you_," he said. Dib could hear the chords seeping from his pocket, headphone wire swinging, and he recognized the song. He knew this one. _My TV and you_, is what the song was saying within the fabric walls of his pocket, _it's the only place to be_.

There was another silence as Zim turned away, stalking to the table and slumping into one of the chairs, watching Dib through the doorway. Dib stood uncertainly for one, two seconds, _a room without a view_, the song was saying. Finally he stepped forward slow and methodic and slid carefully into the other chair across the table from those folded claws. Zim wasn't looking at him, scratching at an old stain on the table, and Dib saw that the kitchen was in as much disarray as the living room.

Perhaps that was a bug crawling in the corner; the tabletop was covered with sets of deep gashes, sporadic and ferocious like the swipes of some beast.

The song was still blaring softly in the background but past that, it was uncomfortable and unsure, and Dib tentatively asked, "Where's your…robot thing?"

The scratching sound stopped. There was only the song, and the lyrics Dib really couldn't hear, and Zim looked carefully off to the side. Dib couldn't read his expression as Zim went, "That's not important either." All he said. Then silence again. Dib would give anything to have young Dib bothering him, as the quiet was almost too much. Dib willed the alien to say something stupid, something vain, something familiar so he could get more comfortably into arguing mode.

He cleared his throat and Zim started slightly.

"Well," Dib began, and the tinges of warning were almost potent in his voice, "maybe we should actually do something with this stupid project thing." Zim glanced up, and then seemed to shake himself out of something, or at least catch onto whatever drift Dib was on in an attempt to dispel the heaviness. Dib said, "Since we made so much progress yesterday."

Zim still wasn't very familiar with sarcasm. But living on Earth for as long as he had gave him at least a weak signal recognition and his eyes narrowed at the insolence in Dib's voice, like the human was blaming him for something.

"It wasn't _my_ fault," he growled. Ah, yes, this was well-known territory, bickering and fighting and anger. This was better than whatever else either of them had to offer, almost sad that it was nearly an automatic defense mechanism for the both of them. There was nothing else they knew, was there. Zim found himself almost relieved for a few moments when he saw the hard glint in Dib's eyes before he remembered he should be annoyed.

"You were the one that went running out," Dib said. He saw Zim's hand twitch briefly.

"And you were the one that insulted me," the Irken threw back. Dib could see that he was quickly becoming defensive ― even now he was hunched over like he could protect himself, claws beginning dig grooves into the table. _So that's where those came from_, Dib thought, and he glanced at all the other marks. He was backing Zim into a corner. Like yesterday. And what the alien had before seen as a relief was swiftly becoming something he hated and perhaps feared. But he wouldn't admit that.

Not even to himself.

"Like you didn't deserve it," Dib sneered, leaning forward and watching as Zim leaned slightly back. Dib couldn't stop it, now it was going, it wasn't working on the project or dealing with this in a mature way. He almost wished he could make himself grow the fuck up.

Almost.

"Mocking my race," Zim snarled, curled like some feral creature, "is _not_ funny."

"Or cute, right?" Dib said bitingly. Zim's eyes narrowed and the fake lavender pupils stood starkly against the white of the contacts. "It's not supposed to be. For the last time, I'm not trying to be 'funny'. All _I_ did yesterday was tell you the truth. If you can't even handle that, you're a worse Invader than I'd originally expected." Zim was mad, oh he was getting pissed. "It's all just payback for the countless times of humiliation you put me through eight years ago."

"You brought that all upon yourself!" Zim shrieked, jabbing his claw into the air, and Dib's jaw tightened. This fight was escalating fast, whirling around them, an invisible monsoon. "Don't give me your disgusting self-pitying ― how do you stupid humans say it ― _bullshit_." Dib blinked at hearing such a human phrase seeping from the Irken's lips like a verbal poison.

Zim stabbed his finger in Dib's face again. "If you have enough to tell me that _I_ can't handle the truth; what of you, idiotic pig?" His hands slammed down onto the table with a loud bang and he leaned up, towering over, eyes malicious and mean. Dib could hear the song in his pocket, blaring away, white noise, and Zim hissed, "What of the fact that no one cares what you say, or cares that you exist, an outcast of your entire inferior race?"

Dib knew all this. He did, didn't he, yes.

"Even the one that raised you." Of course. A low blow. But Dib still felt as if the air had been forcibly sucked from him lungs. "A flaw on your planet, like a pimple on a grease-infested face! I'd say you were more of a waste than I ever was."

Dib swallowed the lump down. _Get a grip. Get a grip_. He was looking up into Zim's eyes, could see the slight hint of madness in them, the part of him still unbalanced.

_You might want to tread carefully_.

Dib didn't look away, though he almost wanted to. He wasn't sure whether to be glad or upset or anything, he wasn't sure what, exactly, any of this meant. _Where have you been?_

_Around_. Young Dib sounded flippant despite the broiling situation, a contrast almost too much for Dib to comprehend. He returned his attention to Zim, who was smiling smugly as if he'd won something, but Dib didn't want him to think he was that easy a target.

"Funny, Zim," he said. "Speaking of failures." Zim's features hardened slightly. Dib turned the notch up to downright cruel and he glanced around the rundown kitchen as if looking for something. "So where're the human slaves? The shrines in your honor? How much praise did your leaders give you and when are you being called home for the celebration? Congratulating Zim, most adept Invader in all the universe." He clapped a few times in mock applause and it sharply reverberated around the room.

Zim was shaking. All his dreams, his little fantasies, turned to taxidermy and put on display before him as impossible things, sarcastic barbs.

"So about that project," Zim said softly in an abrupt change of subject. His voice was lilting and trembling with the amount of force he was using to keep it down, keep it quiet. Something in the air turned hazardous. "You want information, right? _Culture_?" His hand lifted, reaching back for his Pak. Dib's eyes widened.

_This is exactly what I was trying to warn you about_. Young Dib sounded nervous, on edge, and out of the corner of his eye Dib could see the tiny imaginary figure crouched down as if to hide.

"I'll give you _culture_," Zim snapped, and in that moment something clicked and Dib went scrambling out of his chair. He stumbled back a few paces without really registering what was happening, young Dib babbling at him in the background.

_You idiot he doesn't care if you die he's still an alien __**he can be dangerous**__―_

Dib's foot hit open air. He went falling back.

_Shit_.

He just saw Zim standing before the table, claws pressed gently to its surface, as he went hurtling downwards. The cruel glare. And the absolute lack of smile.

Then there was darkness, and he was falling.

_Shit_.

-------

"_You have a point."_

"_I know."_

"_So?"_

"_It'd be the wise thing to do, wouldn't it? All that information…"_

"_I wasn't thinking about the information."_

"_I realized that."_

"…_It's that button."_

"_I know what button it is."_

"_So…"_

"_Let's just hope we don't accidentally incarcerate him."_

"_I like you; you're funny."_

-------

The floor came without warning.

Dib hit it hard with a sickening thud and knocked all the oxygen out of his lungs and he curled instantly, coughing and wheezing and sucking in air like a dying man. For all he knew, he could be. He writhed, metal cold and biting against his skin, his chest flaring with pain, when he saw a faint glow. His opened his eyes fully.

He would recognize this for anything. It was Zim's lab, his base, all his technology…

…And it was all in shatters.

What had before been flawless circuitry, gleaming computers and buttons and wires in Dib's memory were now smashed, broken, dark. His felt himself shudder; there was a crack in that computer screen, the wires were tangled, everything was dark and dusty, not touched for most likely ages. Dib looked at the floor, saw that his body had made a faint outline in the thick layer of dust. He brushed off his clothes with his hands and coughed at the plume that exploded in front of him.

Then something smashed into the side of his skull. It fell with a crash to the floor next to him.

He looked hesitantly down and saw two dull gray orbs. Dead. Zim's robot.

"Is this enough information for you, _Dib_?"

Zim's voice crawled out of the shadows, a snake, full of anger and hatred and perhaps a little bit of something murkier. Dib whirled around and saw him standing not far away, having come in through a different way, probably a much more graceful one, and he had his arms crossed, chest out. He glared down coolly. "Welcome to the glory of the Irken race." His arms flung out to the sides. Gesturing to the broken computer, the mangled wires, the dead robot.

"This is the finest technology in all the universe, human. This is top-grade Invader machinery, this is the pride and the most important tool to our great Empire. This would be something I don't believe in anymore."

Dib felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest hurt, and he must have injured his arm because it felt hot and swelled, and he cradled it to his chest as Zim slunk around him. Skirting him like he was tainted, kicking the lifeless robot hard along the way and watching it skitter off across the dust into the nearby darkness.

Zim was ripping at his head; his wig was askew. "You make me _hate_, Dib-stink!" he said curtly, and his voice echoed through the lonely darkness. "You make me hate because after a while everything you had always been saying to me, your filthy words and their dripping, harmful goo ― they wouldn't leave me _alone_. I heard your voice over everything I tried to do, every plan I tried to create!" He stabbed himself in the forehead with his claws, over and over, "Your words, words, words and their awful _sounds_!"

He swung his fist in a wide arc and tore some of the wires out of the wall. It was the most passionate Dib had seen him in what felt like forever, and all he could do was sit painfully on the dusty floor and hold his arm to his chest and absentmindedly hope it wasn't broken.

"Your very voice makes me wish to deactivate," Zim snarled. And he gestured at Dib violently, "Your very _pungency_ makes me wish to leap before one of your inferior speeding ground machines! I hope you're happy." He tossed his arms into the air in scorning victory. "You won, Dib-filth! You won a long time ago! I hope you're happy for―"

A loud bang in a distant reach of his base suddenly cut off the rest of the Irken's rant, which withered in the air, dying a premature death. The wires fell to the floor, Zim dropped his arms, whirled around. There was silence for a few brief moments and both the alien and human peered off into the shadows, tense and awaiting any other sounds.

Dib could hear his heart hammering in his ears. Young Dib whispered fearfully, crouched down low at Dib's side.

It came slow, starting out soft. A small squeak echoed, then grew and grew until it was a great, shuddering groan that shook the walls around them. Dib winced, Zim clapped his hands over the top of his head, where his antennae lay hidden underneath his wig. The groan died off and things started clanging and metal grated together. Shifting. Something was happening. Dib huddled down, gripping his arm and looking around in confusion as wires were pulled taut, the walls overlapped and shivered. He had no idea what was going on, but Zim apparently knew.

"…No," the Invader was saying, shaking his head and backing away from the walls. "No, no, no, _no_, it can't, it can't be―" He nearly tripped over Dib and spun around and the panic in his eyes set Dib on edge, young Dib was whining. _What is it, what the hell is happening_―

"Zim," Dib said nervously, "Zim, what's going on?"

Zim didn't answer ― he was too busy leaping over Dib's form and hurtling off through a doorway, disappearing, and Dib heard himself cry out and he scrambled to his feet. He followed him through the door, his arm screamed with pain, everything deafening around him. Zim was nowhere to be found but Dib could figure out well enough what was the elevator.

It shook and made Dib press to its sides as it rose and he hoped it didn't collapse and fall down the shaft to who the hell knows where. _If this thing lets go I'm dead_.

_And to think_, young Dib was growling, clutching his hands in his coat; _to think we came here just to finish a stupid project. Why does everything happen to __**you**__?_ Dib's mind blanked out when the elevator dropped a few inches and young Dib's image flickered, things were still loud and suffocating.

_Tell me once you figure it out because I'd really like to know myself, okay?_ Dib snapped at him and he braced his good hand against the wall, hissing as his injured arm hovered painfully at his side, swelling purple and red and blue in the elevator's garish white light.

After what felt like forever Dib was emerging out of the trash can in Zim's disgusting kitchen and before the elevator could lift him out all the way it quivered to a gnashing halt. Dib was going to have to lift himself out ― young Dib was standing in front of him babbling encouragements as the boy attempted to claw his way out of the opening. But with a hurt arm it wasn't working that well.

A sudden cry made Dib turn and glance around to see Zim scrabbling out of the toilet, having gone up a different way and the Irken was looking through the kitchen doorway with something akin to horror. Dib looked. He heard himself give a yell of confusion, despair ― thick metal sheets were clapping slowly down link by link over the windows.

He understood. A lockdown.

Zim screamed a word Dib couldn't comprehend and shot out of the toilet, stumbling across the kitchen floor with his hands stretched pleadingly, every clack of the metal being lowered further down sounding like a robot heartbeat. Dib finally managed to heave himself out of the trashcan and rolled himself off the floor.

He reached the kitchen doorway just in time to see the last of the pale sunlight outside disappear behind the thick sheets and the door vanish in the same fashion. Zim reached the window too late and he fell against it, banging at it futilely with his fist.

There was a tense pause as everything slowly settled around them and the last of the ringing metal below them in the base crept to silence. Zim pressed his hands to the metal, claws curled and scraping with fury, breathing heavily. Then he staggered back and looked up at the formidable barrier to the outside world with his shoulders slumped.

He sucked in a great breath.

"_No_!"

Zim fell to his knees, yanking off his wig, shredding it in his hands. He clawed at his face violently and the contacts fell to the floor, but he didn't stop, trembling and keening in a state of animalistic panic. Dib watched silently as the proud Irken dissolved into a fit in front of him, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. So he stood holding his arm and waiting, waiting for something. That was when he realized that he couldn't hear the song.

He reached into his pocket. His CD player was in pieces.

"At the very least let _him_ out!" Zim was barking at no one in particular, pointing vaguely back in the human's direction. "I can't die in here; not with _him_!"

Dib felt his chest go cold when he heard the word 'die' and young Dib was whispering something again. He couldn't exactly hear him but he knew what he must have been saying. He stepped forward with as much courage as he could muster in facing an enraged Irken and his tongue nearly tripped over the words ― "Wait…what's going on? What just happened?"

Zim twisted on him, his eyes flaming with anger. Dib almost wished he hadn't said anything but he needed to know what this was. And if he could get out, even. Zim rose leisurely and threatening from his crouched position, claw aimed straight at Dib's heart.

"More information for your stupid project, then!" he retorted. He said, voice a nasty snarl, "Fine, what's the point, we're not going anywhere! This is known as an Irken Procedural Information Defense Maneuver. It's for Invaders who perish on their missions; every Invader is entrusted with important information on Irken technology and it would be _drastically_ dangerous should any other alien race obtain it!"

Zim's maroon eyes glinted as he looked down at Dib's injured arm cradled in his hand and he gave the pathetic limb a cruel, hard prod with the heel of his palm. Just so he could release some of his frustration through the pain of others. But hearing Dib's cry of outrage and agony didn't seem to help ― Zim shouldered past him and marched towards the kitchen.

Young Dib was wringing his coat. _I don't like the sound of this Irken Information Defense thing_.

"But it makes no sense," Zim was saying, gesturing wildly and talking not to Dib at all anymore, "It doesn't make sense because I _haven't_ perished, my Pak ID is still valid! It should be in the systems, shouldn't it, it should still be in the Irken Military files!" He walked in a wide arc around the table and suddenly stopped on the other side of it.

"I have to call my Tallests," he muttered. He was looking around the room but he wasn't seeing any of it, thinking deeply to himself before he began to make a move for one of the entrances to his base. He pulled back: "No, no that computer is broken." He started for another entrance. Stopped. "And that monitor hasn't been working for years." Stepped forward again and stopped. "And…and the TV's been destroyed, right…"

Dib bit his lip. Zim was sounding less and less sure of himself, more and more troubled, anxious. He watched as the Irken hovered uncertainly for a few moments, still jerking in random directions as he tried to think of some way to communicate with his leaders; every time he pulled back his expression melted further to fear. Finally he stopped moving. And simply stood.

There came a soft sound: Dib cleared his throat. "Zim. Can we get out?"

Zim raised his head, but again seemed to look right through the human. "What did I just say?" he murmured despondently. "This is a complete and total lockdown of the base, Dib. No one and nothing can get in. Or out." One antenna twitched, lifting. He seemed to have thought of something and was heading for an entrance, but Dib was trying to keep his heart from drowning in his stomach acid.

"Wait a second, just hang on," Dib spluttered, lunging forward after Zim. "You mean we're _trapped_ here?" He ignored the glare Zim gave when he jumped gracelessly into the elevator after the alien, hissing through his teeth as he jarred his bad arm.

"Yes," Zim bit out curtly. The elevator started to descend with a sharp creak only to stop a few seconds after on a new floor. Zim stepped out and Dib mindlessly followed. He held his arm tightly, probably cutting off circulation, but he was attempting to digest the situation ― trapped, here, with Zim, for an extended amount of time. _Oh, God. God, no, I don't think I'd last three days_.

_Keep your wits, don't fly into a panic attack_, young Dib said. Dib swallowed, shook his head, tried to breathe.

"Zim," he said and he was horrified to hear his voice waver and then crack. It was only one syllable, it shouldn't be that hard to get out. "Zim, I can't stay here."

The Irken was shoving aside pieces of scrap metal and dangling wires, searching for something, claws rooting through the debris. "You don't exactly have a choice, Dib-stink," he snapped, irritated, things banging like pots and pans as he rifled. He drew out a dull tool that looked like a wrench and tossed it down beside him to possibly use later. It was heavier than it appeared, and Dib tensed as the clash of metal rang sharply in his ears.

"No," he gasped and he felt the last vibrations of the bang lingering in his chest like a tuning fork. "I can't, I…I have school. And my family would...and I told Gaz I'd be home for dinner. I _can't_ stay here, Zim." The alien was pulling out more tools from the pile, throwing them all onto the growing collection on the floor next to him. He looked down, silently deemed he had enough, bent down to pick up the wrench thing.

"I don't exactly want to be here with you either, smelly human," Zim said as he glanced up, balancing the wrench easily in his hand. His face set and cold.

"You don't understand," Dib squawked, watching Zim start to lean over to the nearby monitor and examine it carefully with a pondering crease in his brow. Dib came closer, he needed the Irken to get it, this was not going to work. The boy would implode, combust if he had to stay here at all. "You need to find some way to get us out of this useless place, someone has to notice that I'm gone, and I need―"

"By the Tallest, do you ever shut that prattling voice thing of yours up?" Zim barked suddenly, and the immense frustration was easy to read in his tone, in the angle the wrench settled in when he pointed it straight at Dib's face. "I don't care about your problems. I do not want to _hear_ about your weeping, insignificant issues." The wrench was smacked against a table as Zim spontaneously extended his arms. "Zim has his own concerns! More important than your foolish human whiny words. Go, get away and find something for your decrepit extension so you can stop hobbling about me like some pathetic drooling dog-beast!"

Dib had nothing he could say. The entire rant had babbled out of Zim's mouth like a wrathful river and as the Irken returned his attention to the monitor, Dib could do nothing but simply stand and stare at his back for a few moments. Finally, young Dib pulled on his sleeve.

_Leave the selfish bastard be_. Dib walked slowly to the first doorway he found and wandered down it aimlessly, young Dib only a stride ahead. As he went past door after door and down more and more strange corridors Dib almost wished he could simply get lost in the maze of it all and die somewhere in a corner of starvation.

_You know_, young Dib said absentmindedly. _I was right_.

_About what_, Dib said, highly uninterested.

_That stupid alien hasn't changed a bit_.


	7. Chapter 7

Wow, I am sorry. It's been a while. But I keep thinking back to this story and I truly do wish to finish it, you just have to bear with me. College has started. Without further ado.

-------

The main area of the base was destroyed, but the area that branched from it simply reeked of inactivity. Dib wandered with young Dib scowling at his heels and every room he entered was dark, dusty, ringing with silence. Eventually the sharp clinks and bangs of Zim working on the monitor faded away to less than background noise. And then it was merely Dib, injured arm and broken CD player.

He searched every room for bandages but found nothing. There were drawers, and places he could look, but no bandages and soon enough he was frustrated. Frustrated, bordering on pissed, and his searches grew louder, clamoring, as he grew more and more careless in his anger. Until finally, young Dib had to tell him to stop, calm down before he broke something. Dib glared at him, threw a drawer to the floor, sucking air sharply between his teeth as it rattled his arm.

"_Godammit_," he raged and kicked the drawer until it collided hard with a wall. He stormed out the door, across the hall, into another dark and musty room. He reached for the nearest set of drawers and yanked them all open and rolled his hand around inside until his fingers suddenly touched something soft. He pulled out a white roll of bandages. This somewhat appeased his anger; he found a rusty stool and sat down. He had begun to doubt the existence of bandages at all.

Young Dib stood with his arms crossed and expression criticizing. _I'm glad you seem to be over your hissy fit_.

Dib cast him a withering look over his glasses as he grabbed a thin metal rod from one of the closest tables. _Who does that stupid space barbarian think he is_, he mentally snarled. He placed the cold rod along his forearm and did his best at bandaging it together as a shoddy splint ― the rod was stained and rusty and caught on his skin a bit as he pulled the bandaging tight. _Shoving me off when…fuck_. The bandage was tangled and the roll fell off the table.

_I'd help but I don't exist_, young Dib quipped. _And even you have to admit that you were being pretty annoying back there_.

_Fine, whatever_, Dib retorted. He was bending over in half, stretching his arm beneath the table to get the bandages. _It doesn't mean I can't be angry_. Young Dib watched coolly as he just barely grasped at the roll and pulled it back, working again on bandaging his arm. _Y'know, it's probably his fault we're stuck down here. And he has the nerve to act like it's mine or something_.

Young Dib was chuckling. _He's always done that_.

_It doesn't make it any less aggravating!_ Dib snapped. He reached his wrist and began looping the bandages around his palm, circling his thumb, up to his knuckles. He looked around for something to cut the bandages with but couldn't find anything, so he attempted to chew through them. Young Dib rolled his eyes, kicked at the drawers. Dib found something like a blade.

_If it's been less than fifteen minutes trapped with Zim and you're already close to losing it, I'd say you were in some deep shit_, young Dib said to him. _Unless you want to go absolutely batshit insane I suggest you learn some anger management. Let's start here: Zim is an idiot_.

Dib tucked the frayed end of the bandage in against his palm. _I already knew that_.

Young Dib continued as if the teen hadn't said anything. _Remember also: Zim has no idea what he's talking about half the time_.

_More than that_.

_Three quarters of the time_.

Dib clicked his tongue.

_Eighty-five percent of the time_.

_Better_.

_What I'm trying to say is don't get mad. It'll cause nothing but agony and agony is the last thing we need right now_. Dib sighed and looked away, rubbing the back of his head and feeling an immensely reluctant acceptance of what his conscience was telling him. _Take this like you were going to take this project ― get it over with_.

_Yeah, look how well __**that**__ turned out_, Dib muttered. The stool squeaked as he stood up and started rooting through more drawers, picking out random items, throwing them onto the table. He pulled out his CD player and tossed it onto the pile of things he'd collected. It sprung open, the CD clattered to the floor. Dib leaned against the table and absentmindedly stared at its rainbow-streaked underside. _Do you think it would technically be murder if an alien was the victim?_

_Technically_, said young Dib and his voice was scorning, _you wouldn't have a fourth of the guts required to kill someone._

Dib looked offended for half a second, opened his mouth, then closed it and ducked his head as he bent to pick up his CD. He sat down on the stool and dragged the tools towards him, slowly picking them up and beginning to investigate the player. He didn't say anything and eventually young Dib faded away out of utter boredom. Being a conscience wasn't any fun if the host didn't bother to listen anymore.

-------

_Just go. Get it over with._

_Y'know, I'm getting really tired of hearing you say that_.

Dib tightened his fingers on the CD player and the plastic creaked in his hand. He swayed from foot to foot, shoulder touching each side of the doorway, watching Zim pull at wires and rearrange circuitry. Young Dib was starting to look frustrated and Dib found he really didn't care; he just wanted to turn around and hide in some dank, distant corner. Or burrow his way out of this very real and sudden hell.

_Stop being a wimp!_ young Dib shouted. Dib jumped, shuffling a bit into the room. He saw a single thin antenna twitch at the scrape of his shoes over the floor but Zim didn't turn, didn't stop his repairs.

What was worse was he didn't say anything.

Dib floundered a bit in the silence, throat muscles tensing each time he went to say something and relaxing again when he didn't, fist clutching at the hair in the back of his head. Young Dib glared at him. Dib glared at Zim's back. This would be so much easier if Zim were still as short as he used to be, wouldn't it. Talking down at someone was so much simpler than talking eye-level.

"So," he said and winced; his voice cut the silence much too sharply, "is it fixed?"

Young Dib was rolling his eyes and flapping his hand in a hopeless matter. Fuck consciences.

Zim barely paused ― a disorganized slew of wires jutted from the open panel, worthless innards shoved off to the side as Zim prodded at the circuit board. The Irken's head rotated slightly and Dib caught sight of a sardonic maroon eye. "Does it look fixed, Dib-thing?" he asked plainly. He finished with the board and moved to the wires, weeding through them with his claws and separating them all into fragments Dib couldn't begin to comprehend.

"No…" Dib murmured lamely, voice trailing off into nothing, and Zim turned away from him. Stopped speaking to him, stopped acknowledging his presence. Now young Dib was waving energetically at him and Dib could feel the words at the back of his throat, and he slumped against the wall. "Look," he said and he slid slowly down to sit on the floor. Zim's antennae perked up so he knew the alien was listening. "I don't like you. You don't like me―"

"These are simple equations, human. Say something worth my time." The Irken clipped a wire a tad sharply.

"I was getting to it; chill," Dib snapped. He saw Zim's thin shoulders tense and he sighed in frustration. "Don't interrupt me. Just talking to you is difficult enough. What I'm trying to say is…this sure as hell isn't going to be a party. But if, if we at least _attempt_ to be civil towards one another―"

A tool clanged hard onto the floor, and Zim yanked harshly at some extra wires with more vehemence than needed. "Stupid, filthy human!" the Irken barked, spinning on him and Dib figured that maybe this might not work out so well. Zim's liquid red eyes blazed with anger and he said, "You talk to Zim of _civil_?"

Dib let his mouth hang open for a split second in complete confusion before he suddenly understood.

"_Considering my complete and utter loathing for you, disgusting meat-sack, I was trying to be civil."_

Funny thing was, Dib hadn't had any idea that Zim had the ability to be offended. But every rigid line in the alien's lithe frame spoke of injury. The crack of his knuckles around a fistful of wires was enough. Dib pressed himself back against the wall, young Dib watching silently, and Dib was starting to wonder why his conscience was always utterly unhelpful in these kinds of situations.

"Okay," said Dib softly, "okay. So maybe I was a jackass that first time. But if it's going to somehow smooth this…"

He couldn't find a word to describe this adventure. Young Dib said, _torture? Agony? Hellish hayride? _

"…whole _thing_ out, maybe we should just give it one more try?"

Zim seemed momentarily placated but at the same time, his brow lowered in suspicion. His fist loosened on the wires and he slowly turned back towards the monitor, reconnecting a few more wires and lapsing back into silence. Dib fidgeted uncomfortably in the quiet and went pathetically, "Would it help if I said I'm sorry?"

The cool, calm look that Zim gave him was almost scarier than the anger. "Sorry means nothing to an Irken soldier," Zim said. "So no, it doesn't help, despite how high your foolish human customs hold the meaningless word." He closed the panel with a hard bang that echoed, carelessly kicking aside his tools. He reached over to turn the monitor on and paused with his claw on the button, seeming to consider something. Then he said almost too low for Dib to hear:

"However, I accept."

The button clicked as it was pressed, and the room was filled with the loud and startled hum of machinery coming back to life. Dib felt an unidentifiable thing rise with the sound and young Dib was clapping, but he shoved the small figment to the side and stood.

Zim shoved some scraps of metal off of a nearby stool carelessly and dragged it over, sitting down as Dib approached and watched unfamiliar symbols flash by on the screen. The images were fuzzy and indistinct and occasionally disappeared completely before blinking back on, and Zim was furiously struggling with the knobs and clacking at buttons. Dib watched by his elbow and almost didn't want to say anything considering the pact they had was extremely fragile. But eventually he went, "So…what're you doing?"

"Contacting my leaders," Zim said to him, said it like it was common knowledge that Dib should be aware of. The Irken banged the heel of his palm to the monitor in an attempt to make things work better.

"Why?" Dib asked. He heard something clunk within the machine.

Zim was looking annoyed now and he muttered something underneath his breath. "Because they're the ones with the main switch for all Irken Procedural Information Defense Maneuvers." He twisted a knob sharply and then sat back and tapped his boot a few times, hitting one more button. "And they're the ones with the power to do so anyway ― a signal!"

Before Dib even knew what was happening Zim was shoving him off to the side and he was colliding with a table, sending tools scattering and hissing through his teeth as he landed on his poorly bandaged arm. "What the hell," he barked, but Zim was waving his arms frantically and so was young Dib.

"Get out of view of the screen; they'll see you!" Zim snarled in a rare state of panic and although Dib's arm was throbbing and horribly sore he did as told and scrambled away.

Zim frantically stabbed at the keys to bring the signal in more clearly, one hand reaching back to pull nervously at his antenna ― something that Dib had seen him unconsciously begin to do at his house out of nervousness but stop once he realized there was nothing there. There was a roar of static and Zim's hand flashed through the air in a sharp and respective salute.

"Zim?" said a voice, just barely heard amongst the scrambled airwaves.

"My Tallest," the Irken replied politely, if not a bit curtly, and his hand tried to reach for his antenna before he caught himself. Protocol. He opened his mouth but the voice cut through again.

"Zim, you haven't called in a while," they said and didn't sound like they particularly cared. Dib stood holding his arm and watching as Zim momentarily quailed, squirming on the stool.

"I…I realize this," Zim eventually forced through his jagged teeth, and his hand darted forward to twist a knob as the static grew. "But I'm calling now because, I, well―" What it was he had to say was nearly forbidden for lowly Invaders: "I believe there has been a mistake, my Tallest." And Zim sat back, waiting for some sort of reprimand; it wasn't right to question the Tallest or their motivations.

But he got something he'd least expected.

"No, no mistake."

Dib felt his jaw go slack, his fingers gripping at the bandages on his arm. Zim's antennae ducked dramatically before he wrestled them back into the air, and the Irken was seeming to have trouble with all the minor points of formal speaking today. He swallowed, said softly, "W-what?"

The voice said, a tad irritated, "No mistake, Zim."

"But…but it has to be―"

"It's not."

Zim was degenerating into a mild form of shock; he continued to open his mouth and make sounds as if to speak but he never actually said anything of any intelligent worth. He wasn't even attempting to keep the signal in line anymore and it whistled and whined on the monitor as he sat with his claws limp at his sides. There was the sound of a tongue clucking. "Is that it, then? Because we'd really like to go."

Before anything else could happen Dib waved a hand out. "Wait!" he snapped, storming forward and Zim glanced at him, standing from his stool as if ready to block Dib's view of the screen. Or the other way around. "Wait," Dib said again and he shoved Zim aside, "wait just a godamn minute here. I'm here too; you can't leave me down here."

The slender Irken on the screen narrowed its ruby eyes in a brief display of surprise while the image flickered weakly in and out. Behind him, another sat forward with his antennae perked in mild interest. "Do I look like I particularly care, insubordinate human thing?" the red one clipped and it had Dib gritting his teeth, setting his hands against the keyboard, leaning forward.

"Some leaders you are." He wasn't sure where he was going with this, just that he was mad, he wanted out of there and the only way was in their crooked claws. "If what Zim told me earlier was true and an Invader needs to be dead for the defense thing to be necessary, then why lock him up while he's still alive?" Mr. Red Eyes was about to say something, but Dib cut him off, "And don't tell me it's just because he's annoying."

There was nothing but silence from the other end. Zim looked steadily crestfallen ― his head bowed, turned away, the elegant curves of his antennae dropping further. Dib stared at the Tallest, startled. "Shit," he murmured.

And Dib almost, almost felt bad for Zim.

_Don't_, warned young Dib.

"He was just doing the job you assigned him," Dib said, and young Dib raged at being so callously ignored. It was then the leaders' faces grew distasteful, and one clacked his claws together, making an eerie sound over the transmission.

"No," Red told him, "he was going off to be banished like we assigned him."

There was a humongous crash and Dib whirled to see Zim trying to stand on shaking legs, bent against a table. His eyes were wide and glistening, antennae completely flattened against his skull. "What?" he whispered, barely heard, but then his chest shuddered and it came out more like a shattered bark: "_What_?" His claws scraped desperately at the surface of the table.

Dib turned back and glowered at the screen. "You guys are worse than _our_ leader."

But then Zim piped up, voice small and needy. "You can't leave me here!" he said, a reed of honest fear in his tone. "You can't abandon me like this!"

The red one glared through the monitor and Dib was sure that it was the most hateful look he had ever seen in the short span of his teenage life. "Yes we can," the single Tallest said. "Observe example one." And the screen went completely and utterly black. Dib felt all the warmth in his chest expel as the transmission flickered out, his stomach heaving like he was about to vomit. Zim's leaders weren't going to help, he was really stuck here―

There was a suffocating silence for a few terrifying seconds. Zim stood with his shoulders slumped, staring like he was trying to process what'd just happened.

Then he curled his fists, back rigid, opened his mouth. Dib shuffled back, hands poised halfway to his head to cover his ears. But Zim didn't roar, or scream or shout or do anything Dib had been expecting him to. Instead a small and single whine streamed out, forming eventually into words. "You…you can't leave me here." And Dib took another step back when he realized that the Irken wasn't talking to him at all.

"You can't leave me here," Zim said again, louder, stepping forward and beginning to blindly tap at some buttons like he could bring the dead signal back, "you can't, you can't you can't―" Just like that, the calm front disappeared and Zim thrust a fist through the screen, ignoring the glass that cut into his glove. "I did everything you said! I did my training I survived Devastos I served in your Elite I did everything you told me, _I do not belong here_!" He fell back into his stool, gripping at his head.

Dib hovered uncertainly in one spot with young Dib chattering at him to keep himself together, don't get sympathetic, but it was a very hard thing to do. The teen could do nothing but stand, chew on his lip.

_Shit_.

_Don't you dare_, young Dib growled at him.

_You'd think his leaders would have handled this a bit more professionally than that._

_You're impossible_.

"Zim…" Dib found himself uttering, and he gulped as the Irken just shook his head in response. Shoulders shaking slightly as if he were crying but Dib didn't think he even had the capacity to actually weep. "It…well, it's not so bad, right? We can still find a way out of here."

Zim kept slowly shaking his head. He'd stopped shaking and all the lines in his body were rigidly straight like he was on the verge of snapping in two.

Dib was floundering. "Forget about them," he ventured. "They're bastards anyway."

_Just what the hell are you doing?_ Young Dib was beginning to rage. It only added to Dib's agitated state, he was shaking with the effort to mentally push young Dib away.

Dib was opening his mouth to say something else but that was when Zim snapped straight, and he brought his hands down onto the computer keyboard with a loud and startling smash. Zim's face twisted into a frightening snarl. "Get out," the alien clipped in a quavering voice. Dib pursed his lips.

"But Zim, we need to figure out a way to―"

A large, heavy metal tool zinged past Dib's left ear, flying with a force that could have smashed the front of his skull to something unrecognizable. He ducked, shouting unintelligibly over the clanging of the tool crashing to the floor.

"_Get out_!" Zim screamed. His throat sounded raw and painful. And that was when he began to screech words that Dib couldn't process, a language that he couldn't understand, and Dib had time to only think, _his native tongue_ before more tools began to fly. But they weren't flying at Dib; they were going through computer screens, bouncing off the metal plating that had clapped down over the walls, all the while Zim repeating something in Irken, over and over.

Dib ran away.

He didn't look to see where he was going, he simply ran. Down a dark hallway and past some rooms until he reached something of a dead end, collapsing into a corner and realizing that he was shaking. He clutched at himself and tried to breathe. Zim's shouting had become small and minute from the distance, and Dib could hear it slowly degenerating into something that sounded almost like sobbing.

Dib covered his eyes.

_You idiot_.

_What!_ Dib snapped, frightened. _You know, it's in the natural human function to feel sympathy―_

_But not for __**him**__._

_God, just…_ Dib felt almost ready to break down. He wasn't getting out of here, there was no plan, Zim was currently catatonic when he was the only one who could understand the alien technology. Dib plugged his ears. _Just…_

He couldn't see young Dib but that didn't stop it. _I'm inside, you buffoon. You can't ignore me._

_**Go away**__._

And it might have been the graveness in his voice or how hard his hands were shaking. But young Dib did as ordered. Dib felt the presence of him start to recede, fading faster, and then nothing but a cold and empty mind left in its place. There was nothing but the dark room of technology and the distressed alien left in the sealed house.


End file.
